The Story of Team Claymore
by Octane
Summary: See the Battle for Earth through the eyes of Spartan G078. Chapte 12 is up. The first chapter with some romance!
1. Last Triumphs?

0903 hours October 3, 2552 (Military Calendar)

System Omikron-124809 (Uninhabited)

In orbit over Planet X-21-834569 (Uninhabited)

Aboard Prowler _ Avera _

Spartan G078, Spartan gee-zero-seven-eight, that was my name now, among my fellow Spartans I was called Axel, my birthday was November 5, 2539, My first name and my birthday, that's all I remember from my old life. Before everyone I knew died and every place I knew was turned into slick black glass. Before, before, before, there was so little of it, so few hazy, sad, and fewer happy memories; each one's value was beyond comprehension.

But before is not what I need to think about now, now I need to think about dropping thousands of meters onto an uninhabitable planet's surface, well it was uninhabitable: the Covenant have set up a seemingly minor manufacturing facility on this planet of sulfuric acid rain and mostly molten soil. But when STARS had made a seismic scan of the planet it was found that it was an extensive mine, used to acquire the bare basic elements for the construction of plasma coils. The facility on the surface was where the minerals were processed and loaded for shipment to be smelted and shaped into the weapons that killed mankind so efficiently. So of course Spartan III's are the ones for the job.

I am going into this mission thinking it is kind of our "last triumph" like Beta Company's destruction of that tritium/deuterium processing plant on Pegasi Delta or Alpha Company's victory at K7-49. I hope I am wrong. I won't mind death, I'm certainly not afraid of it, but I want to do more for the UNSC, I want to kill more Covenant; vengeance is not part of the Spartan III program's training but I partially acknowledge that's what it is.

"Be ready," a voice orders over the shipcomm, "Drop in 5…4…3…" the last numbers were drowned out by the thuds and clunks of the Orbital Drop Pod launching from the Prowler. I brace my self for the impact of the parachute of to slow us down from the faster than a bullet velocity to 300 kph, acceptable only because of the Spartan III's pressure suits. Nausea washes over me as the parachute deploys at a 1000 meters, but I know the worst is yet to come. My helmet bangs around against the inside of the ODP as the parachute rips off, in less than a second, wham! I shake my head around to try to clear my vision of the black stars swirling in it; simultaneously, I kick down the door of the ODP and search around for targets. "Status!" I yell over the teamcomm. 314 LED's flashed green on my HUD, for only a split second though, 314 LED's interfered with my vision so they were set to the minimal time. Wait, 314, one less than there should have been, "Spartan G016: respond!" I say over teamcomm. Nothing, I access the roster and mark Spartan G016 – Jacob as MIA, though I know the truth, his ODP landed in one of the pools of lava, melting it and killing him. Nothing I can do about that, the mission has to be completed.

I feel confident in my chosen weapon load out: one of the newly approved MA5C combat rifles and a BR55 Rifle for the longer range work. Somehow, everyone seems to be looking to me for orders, I am in no formal way in charge of this mission, perhaps since I said the first order and no one else probably wants the job. I shake off the pressure, "Snipers take up positions on that far hill, cover the main assault force, but don't open fire until I give the order! Everyone: activate photo-reactive panels!" In absolute stealth 250 near invisible Spartan III's move toward the mining facility, another 64 take up positions on a rocky cliff. The atmosphere filters out some of the colors of the system's bright blue sun, so the planet looks oddly lit, most everything is some shade of blue or green. "Contact, they're checking out the ODP's" Spartan G244 – Angel says over the singlebeam. Strange, why is she using the singlebeam? I guess it really doesn't matter, singlebeam's safer anyway. "Don't worry about them, focus on the mine. All snipers take targets, steady, aim, fire!" 64 SRS99D S2-AM sniper rifles fire and 64 various Covenant species fall to the ground, then, .084 seconds later, another of the super-hardened alloy, tungsten carbide-tipped 14.5mm x 144mm sailed into 64 more Covenant brains. "Move in!" I say over teamcomm.

All kinds of automatic weapons let out thousands of rounds upon the Covenant forces. I run to the mine's entrance, firing and reloading all the way. Amazingly, not a single plasma bolt hit a Spartan; all was going well, astoundingly well. The door is massive, large enough to fit a Covenant cruiser through, locked shut too. I notice as one of the Spartan III's moves up, places C-10 charges and then retreats to the vague line we've set up around the entrance. Bang! The charges blow a hole just big enough for Spartan III's to fit through. I sling my MA5C and ready my BR55, as a line of Uggnoy pour out, lead pours in to them. "Move up!" I say over the teamcomm. 250 SPI clad, but invisible Spartan III storm into the hole in the door. As the last 10 start to enter I say on a close frequency that only they can here "Stay here, guard the entrance." Then on teamcomm I say "Snipers: take all targets, fire at will!" As I enter I hear the distant rings of SRS99D S2-AM's.

The is something the Covenant would build, the high, wasteful, non-conservative, ceilings are stereotypical of Covenant architecture, the whole place is lit by dim, recessed lights, and they light the purple alloy the Covenant love to use. Good, no twists there. "Look!" Spartan G313 – Greg says over teamcomm. I look in the general direction of where he is and I see one of the most feared creatures in the Covenant: Lekgolo. "Explosives teams: blow 'em to hell!" Spartan G094 – Brad yells over teamcomm. Good, someone else giving orders, within about .02 seconds a dozen 102mm shaped high explosive charges slam into the Lekgolo. Before the kills can even be confirmed, there are more contacts: Sangheili and Uggnoy. The explosive teams had not put away their M19 SSM Rocket Launchers and opened fire on the opposition. Another dozen rockets blow away more of the enemy than I can count, and before I know it, I have my MA5C out and I'm emptying magazines into the remnants of the assailants.

Within 3.32 seconds all of the Covenant forces have been dispatched of. "Toward the core!" I shout over teamcomm. After a short order to 50 Spartan III's to stay and guard the hangar, the rest move on. I always take up the right side when we come to door ways because, though all Spartans are trained to be ambidextrous, I prefer my left hand. Slowly and now without gore the 190 Spartan III's move through the corridors, methodically reloading and killing all the way. Finally, after a half hour of working our way through corridors we come upon the Core. It appears to be a giant Plasma coil leading all the way to the bottom of the mine. "Alex – you know what to do." I told him over single beam; Spartan G200 – Alex knew electronics, even Covenant electronics, like the back of his hand. And he went over, stared at the console for a few seconds "Timer set to 10:00 minutes and counting, the Plasma coil will collapse on its self and release a yield approximately equivalent to 11.2 megatons." Alex said coolly.

"This is Spartan G078 to UNSC prowler _Avera_, do you respond?"

"We read you loud and clear; what do you need?" A bridge officer responded.

"Send down the Gannets, now."

"Aye"

Gannets were smaller than Pelicans, more elegantly crafted, lighter, faster, and better armed than their silver counter parts. They were coated in radar absorbent coating (variant 29.5), and even had active camouflage generators, their color, out of active camouflage, was always a matte black. Their long lines, swooping curves, and singular wing design made them hard to believe they were ever based off a Pelican's frame. They had a capacity of 12 Spartan III's, they would be packed down with 15 on this mission. "Get the hell out of here!" I yell over teamcomm. As soon as my voice cuts off there is an organized chaos as 250 Spartans sprint for the door. Targets occasionally come up, we fire passively at them, all our SPI's power is set to enhance our speed abilities, all our focus on the transmitters of the Gannets, and getting to those transmitters and the ships they were in.

Suddenly I'm out of the mine, into the blueish glow of the planet's surface the timer on my HUD reads 6:09:54; I'm 1km from the Gannets' landing sites. That's' just enough time… I watch as my comrades run in the same direction, I see the vapor trails left by the SRS99D S2-AM high velocity rounds fired by the snipers still on the cliff ahead, and here the whine of plasma weapons to my back. Run, Run, Run, that's all I can think.

4:11:01, cutting it close, but I'm one of the last in line, all but approximately 15 of the Spartan III's have been loaded on to Gannets and all but one of the Gannets was airborne. Then suddenly, as if spawning out of air itself a Sangheili blocks my path. It wears sleek silver armor adorned with blue accents; upon the sight of me it dropped its dual plasma rifles, screamed and activated an energy sword. However, as it was yelling, I rolled around to its back, and before the beast could react: I swung at it with my MA5C and delivered a lethal back breaking blow.

3:33:23, I'm on board, my only view of the surface comes a 10 inch LCD screen in the back corner of the cargo/personnel hold I am in. Just as we are leaving the planet's atmosphere, the mine detonates, it is truly an amazing sight; kilometer upon kilometer of the planet's surface is whipped in to a black glass from the resulting explosion. I can't help but think "How does it feel to be on the other end?" A question I'm asking both myself and the Covenant.

The rest of the mission is uneventful. The Gannets' heavy stealth along with the Prowler's heavy stealth keep us safe from the dozen or so patrolling Seraphs, we set to jump to a vector some out to some system in BF Egypt and the Seraphs notice us just as we are leaving but are unable to get through the millions of tiny black holes freshly ripped in the space-time continuum before we are long gone, and then they probably got our vectors but couldn't follow because Seraph Fighters have no trans-light drives.

I check the roster; I really whish I hadn't. 26 Spartans died. 26 of the people that I had known since I was six, 26 of the people that had been my surrogate brothers and sisters; slowly, taking time to think of each one and who they were and what they had done, I mark them all as MIA. After I am done all I can think is how damned the Covenant fools are. Is that what I'm supposed to think after a mission? For the first time I realize I miss my surrogate parents: Kurt Ambrose and Chief Mendez. And that I miss Onyx as much as my home world: New Maui.

The only hope I can find after that is that none of my team, Team Claymore, was killed. Team Claymore, named after the ancient and powerful sword, I like the name and my team is my family: Spartan G089 – Jeff, Spartan G059 – Shelby, Spartan G244 – Angel, Spartan G330 – José, and myself. A smile crosses my face at the thought of them; they are not only my family but my friends as well.


	2. Familiar Faces, UnFamiliar Places

23:32 hours October 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)

System Zeta - 4590234 (Uninhabited)

Aboard Prowler _Avera _

I hate slip space travel. Not so much the transversal of the space-time continuum but the cryogenic freeze sucks. I hate the taste of the super nutrient, it tastes like it looks: green, slimy, bland, and bitter. No matter how much you brush your teeth with sonic, water, mouthwash, anything you can't get it out for a day. Spartans are almost always frozen because we are "non-essential operational personnel."

Any way I don't even see why they wake us up when we sojourn between systems and orders; it just makes us suffer through the thawing process twice. Well it is one of the few times I can talk to my fellow Spartans without the distraction of battle surrounding the conversation. In some ways I enjoy it, but it is always awkward because Spartans only know war and so far we have all fought the same battles, so we have nothing to talk about save our feelings; and Spartans really suck about that because we've always been trained to focus on the matter at hand, always not to think about our attachments because they can instantly disappear.

None the less I converse with my fellow Spartans about things that randomly come to mind. I some what talk about the battle, more or less we speculate about who will get top honors on Onyx. I mostly talk with Angel; we are by far the most talkative in the cryo bay. At first I think it is a little odd that my other Spartans are so demure, but then I look from their perspective and I realize we look a little odd to them. I don't mind, I tend to be a pay attention to what Angel says.

Her hair is at the maximum 16cm permitted by the UNSC, it is sandy blonde and her eyes are such a pale green it is hard to believe that they have not been artificially recolored. I am much more average looking, when compared to my fellow Spartans, I keep my light brown hair shaved pretty close and my eyes are cold and grey. We actually look alike in more several ways, we both have high cheek bones and very similar eye shapes, and we are both about the same height. All Spartans have clear skin thanks to their SPI suits in which they spend most of their time, the SPI suit is a 99 bacteria-free, climate controlled environment.


	3. Priority 1

09:32 hours October 20, 2552 (Military Calendar)

System Zeta - 4590234 (Uninhabited)

Aboard Prowler _ Avera _

Captain Jason Jackson, or JJ as he preferred, looked over the message again, it must have been the 20th time, and it just seemed too surreal:

Message Start 

October 20, 2552

Order 209.9.64.309

Priority 1

Subject: All Hands on Deck

Issuing Officer: Lord Hood

Encryption: N/A

Classification: N/A

To All UNSC ships on Priority 1 or lower missions,

Direct Jump to Earth immediately! Unless you are currently on a Priority 0 mission you are required to DIRECT JUMP to the Sol System immediately! Cole Protocol is no longer valid! The Covenant forces have discovered Earth and are attacking the planet as you read this.

Repeat Cole Protocol is void. Large Covenant fleet has arrived at Earth and Covenant forces have landed on the surface. Service of all Priority 1 or lower ships is immediately requested. Engage all Covenant forces in orbit and send out all ODSTs as soon as possible.

Lord Hood

Message End 

His bridge crew had seen the message as well, people of five races worked as officers on his bridge, but all their faces matched in color: pallid white with mixed expressions of pity, fear, sadness, and some kind of failure. Something, some training, clicked in JJ's brain and he called over the comm. to the cryogenics team and said: "Fffff.." he cleared his throat without letting off the comm. button, "Freeze the Spartans again, we've received Priority 1 orders." He did not want to worry anyone but his bridge crew with the message until absolutely necessary. The last thing he needed was panic. For a split second he wondered what a Priority 0 mission constituted, suddenly he figured that was on a need-to-know basis, still he'd never heard the term used before, only once before had he received Priority 1 orders, when he was called to Reach earlier that year.

"You know the coordinates Stokes." JJ said solemnly.

"Yes Sir." He said in a monotone even eerier than JJ's.

Stokes' hands flew across the keyboard as he entered the well known, but seldom used coordinates. JJ realized that this was likely the last time he'd ever make another jump, wait, he couldn't let himself think that way, pessimism was contagious.


	4. Don't turn too fast

09:35 hours October 20, 2552 (Military Calendar)

System Zeta - 4590234 (Uninhabited)

Aboard Prowler _Avera _

Damn, here we go again. We are getting put in to cryo. First they stripped us of our black scrub-like outfits we wear outside of our SPI armor, then we are given a chemical shower, then we are forced to swallow a dose of the green super-nutrient, then we are loaded into the cryo pods. Then as the door closes everything goes black. It is not like being asleep, there is just a time lapse, your vision goes black then you wake up two weeks later.

"I've never seen this fast of a turn around of orders." Cryogenics officer Samuel Smitherson said to his fellow officer: Han Ithan.

"I almost did, once, I was working with a team of ODST's once and we got orders for redeployment within 18 hours of coming out of slipspace."

"Really, ours only took eight hours and they are Priority One"

"I guess your right. What is a Priority One mission anyway?"

"I don't know, the last time I got P1's was when…, Ithan paused in deep thought, "O'yea when I was called to Reach…" Ithan cut himself off, not even wanting to think about that terrible event happening once, much less seeing it happen to the last planet that would merit P1 orders: Earth."


	5. File 21

15:13 hours, March 8, 2551 (Military Calendar)

Zeta Doradus System, Near Camp Currahee,

Planet Onyx

File Open 

Security Protocol: eyes only 

Password: (accepted) 

Encryption: Zeta)

Document Load 

Document Display 

Author: UNSC AI Deep Winter

To: Lt. Ambrose

Subject: S-III Brain modification risks (File #21)

The normal side effect of emotional suppression actually helps Spartans in the field; they are able to put away feelings of loss until the mission is over. This allows the Spartans to remain focused on the objective(s) at hand. With the addition of the illegal brain modifications this side effect could be negated, Making Spartans become more attached and less able to deal with loss. The Spartans would likely become more social as well. This, however, appears to be one of the least recurrent cased with only approximately 2 (4-8) of the overall 330 modifications made.

Kurt didn't know why he had wanted to look over Deep Winter's files; he should have just purged them immediately. They did not contain any information that he did not already know. This was the last one; Deep Winter had left 21 files, 21 risks, 21, ways for the Spartan III project to fail. There were many more risks but Deep Winter had only left the most obvious. Kurt had thought of many more than 21 risks.


	6. At First Glance

02:41 hours October 31, 2552 (Military Calendar)

Near Sol System, Slipspace

Aboard UNSC Prowler _Avera_

"Holy shit," 1st Lieutenant Greg Ulrich muttered, and then he said in a clearer fully audible voice "Captain, you might want to come see this." said to his superior officer. "What is it son?" the JJ said in his back-to-usual deep throaty voice. The captain was from Ethiopia, he was tall, dark, and fit. He kept his head shaved and many said he waxed it so that it would shine. The garish white of the officers' uniform contrasted as a near opposite to his dark skin. "Just…look…" Ulrich said.

"Sweet Jesus…" JJ said as he looked on to the screen.

"How many…"

"Thousands."

Then for the first time since reading the communiqué from Lord Hood, JJ actually believed it. The Covenant had found Earth, nothing got higher priority than that. There was hope though, it was in that the Covenant were not just glassing Earth and that there were 289 Spartan III's on board his vessel. "Cap'n," communications officer Robert Earnest called, "we just got orders from High Comm.; they're about Spartan deployment."

"Well, good that takes some of the guessing out of it."

"True but…"

"What?"

"The only way we are going to get through that battle raging above Earth is to come out nearly in the atmosphere, epically without nukes or MAC cannons."

"Well what can you do?"

"I can get us within a thousand kilometers but there is not a thousand kilks error margin. And we could come out _inside_ a ship, or Earth itself."

"And we have another choice?"

Earnest paused for a moment, his hesitation palpable though the command deck, then said "Aye."

"Oh…it's time to wake up, its time to wake up, it's time to wake up in the morning!" Smitherson called out as he began the dethaw process on the Spartans.

"You're insane." Ithan responded.

"Only a little bit…"

"Whatever."

Ithan ambled down to the Cryo bay, and then he waited as the group of Spartans in Cryo Bay C coughed up the green super-nutrient. When they appeared to be done, Ithan shouted to them: "Listen up! Those Covenant bastards have come to Earth, I know it is not any of your home planets, but are we gona' let 'em have it just cause o' that: HELL NO! We are exiting slipspace in 20 minutes, by then I want you people suited up, armed, and ready to kick ass! AM I CLEAR?"

The Spartans replied in unison: "Sir, yes sir!"


	7. Here goes everything

02:59 hours October 31, 2552 (Military Calendar)

Near Sol System, Slipspace (2 minutes to exit)

Aboard UNSC Prowler _Avera_

I pull back the cocking lever on my MA5C, the first time there is just a noise as the round is drawn into the chamber, then I pull it again, this time there is an added "cling" as an unspent cartridge pops out, I catch it just as it is about to hit the floor. Then I twirl it between my thumb and forefinger, for me it is some hybrid of a nervous twitch and something I do to help me think. Angel is sitting in the seat to my right in the Gannet, to the average person; Spartans are extremely hard, if not impossible to tell apart in their SPI armor, but to other Spartans they might as well have their names and numbers written in big red letters across their faceplate, and that is not just because we are uplinked to each other, I, and they, just know. When she notices me twirling the bullet she lightly places her left hand on my right shoulder. Though subtle, the gesture calms me a little, and I stop twirling the bullet, but I don't drop it, I hold it lightly in my fist. "SIXTY SECONDS!" a voice comes over the comm. in the Gannet. I grip the my right hand, the one holding the bullet, into a tighter fist, then I touch it to Angel's and she passes the gesture down the line of team Claymore, the other teams in the Gannet either don't notice, or don't care; a few of turn their helmets sideways for a split second then forget about it.

"THIRTY SECONDS!"

I check my weapons, safeties, backups, and everything else I can think of and then before I know it the voice coins back in: "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2"

Here goes everything.


	8. Kituma

03:01 hours October 31, 2552 (Military Calendar)

Sol System, Low Earth Orbit

Aboard UNSC Prowler _Avera_

"Kituma," JJ called to the _Avera_'s AI, "what in the hell just happened?" The holopad flickered to life and the image of a young Eskimo girl appeared. In her cold, soft tone, Kituma responded: "2 kiloton conventional blast off the port bow. Likely a barrage of Archerpod missiles headed for the Covenant destroyer approximately 4000 kilometers aft of us at vector 117. When we emerged from slipspace we must had the misfortune of coming out right in their path.

"And our operational status?"

"Well, the port bow of the vessel is compromised, along with approximately a fourth of our defenses. Approximate stealth capability is 81."

"Give me 110 power to the engines, and the fastest safe entry vector into Earth's atmosphere."

"Aye, engines responding one-one-zero percent."

For a split second JJ wondered why the AI always said the digits in a number individually, never as the number itself. Never mind, larger matters were at hand. "Sir, the Covenant Destroyer is firing on us!" Weapons Officer Kim Nugeski yelled.

"By god, get the Spartans the hell out of here, NOW!" JJ responded.

"Uma, get the Gannets out!" Nugeski called to the flight control officer over the communications system.

The prowler violently shook, every molecule of it seemed to vibrate and creek with stresses. "What the hell?" JJ asked

"Plasma Strike off the aft." Kituma responded in a more worried than normal tone.

JJ pushed the comm. "Uma, Hold that last Gannet!"

"Why?" Uma's hoarse voice came over the speakers.

"Take Kituma, let's not loose everything."

"Sir, what exactly do you plan to do without me?" Kituma coined in.

"I plan to die," JJ responded coolly, "any of you that want to leave, take the lifeboats." Ulrich and Stokes got up, but the rest of the bridge crew stayed, their faces hardened to stone. JJ again pushed the comm. again, "Evacute to the lifeboats, were evacuating the _Avera_. "Kituma, before you leave, give me a list of entry and evasion vectors."

"Done." Kituma said coolly.

"See you on the other side." JJ whispered to the AI which he had become attached to over the years.

"What sir?"

"Nothing, go, now."

"Aye."

Then the holopad went blank, the bridge crew was quiet, each tending to their duties, looking for a way to escape the imminent death from the Covenant vessels firing at them.


	9. The Crash and the Flashback

03:03 hours October 31, 2552 (Military Calendar)

Sol System, Low Earth Orbit

Aboard UNSC Gannet _Thursday_

Stored in hanger bay of UNSC Prowler _Avera_

The ship board AI, Kituma, has been downloaded into the Gannet's operating systems, I have a bad feeling about the fate of the crew, and I doubt they are all getting out in lifeboats. Wham, the Gannet suddenly accelerates, and we are thrown back. The pilots apparently want to get the hell out of here now. We soar through the void faster than a rifle bullet. I have no clue to the _Avera_'s fate, Gannets have enclosed crew/cargo holds to enhance their stealth capabilities, and though I can see the battle through the 10 inch LCD, I cannot tell ships apart. Within five minutes I feel the Gannet shaking violently as we head into Earth's atmosphere. The pilot's deep voice comes over the comm. system, dishing out orders: "Team Viking, you're headed to help get New Mombassa, or what's left of it, back in order. Team Bayonet, you're to try to rid Carthage of Covenant bastards. Lastly, Team Claymore you're headed to Washington DC to get Earth's capital back and rescue several important political figures, also you're first to drop!"

The G-forces press me against the wall as the Gannet takes a sharp turn, then the pilot says "You might want to strap up." There are 15 clicks as the Spartans strap their seatbelts on. Then, the Gannet suddenly goes into a series of barrel rolls, flips, jinks, and dozens of other maneuvers. I hear the muffled buzz as the Gannet's twin LAAG turrets fire at an unseen enemy. Then I hear the hisses as the 200mm Micro Tracking Hellfire (MiTH) laser guided missiles fire, tracking their target with vim, vigor and hatred. Suddenly, the Gannet shook as heat and overpressure from plasma blasts washed over the hull. More missiles are fired, then more plasma hits, judging from the size of the explosions I figure that we are being chased by a Seraph fighter. Then a screeching sound, followed by the largest explosion yet. A plasma torpedo hit. It rattles me enough that, even in my SPI armor, black stars wash over my vision; then reality starts to get a little blurry. Suddenly, there is a horrible creak of metal on metal, then twin explosions from _inside_ the Gannet. I'm not sure what just happened but it had to do with the engines or the fuel supply because now were loosing altitude, fast.

"We're off course!" the co-pilot screamed over the comm. "Engines not responding, can't control…" then an explosion resonated from the cockpit.

"Hank, Hank, wake up!" The pilot called to his co-pilot. Then Kituma's demure voice chimed in: "There is nothing I can do, Spartans: I advise you use the jump packs to evac now!"

"We can't," Spartan G-285 – Victor, a member of Team Bayonet, responded: "The hatch is melted shut!"

"Brace for impact!" Kituma cut in, speaking in a terrified voice that scared everyone, Kituma _always_ keeps cool during stressful times.

Then, metal crunches, gel layers fail, explosions all around, the taste of copper, then, slowly, a black cloud comes over my vision, reality fades out. Suddenly, I'm back on New Maui, looking out from my old beach home on a high cliff, over looking a warm, small sea it is that perfect time when the blue sun is rising in the west and you can just see the small island 20 miles out on the sea. Then my mother walks on to the balcony, she rubs the hair on my head. My dad comes out about a minute later, he kisses my mom. There is a light, salty breeze blowing, the cry of the newly introduced seagulls occasionally shatters the silence of the vista. It is all too real to be a dream, and I don't think any of it is.

Suddenly, something casts a black spot on the sun, like a solar eclipse, but New Maui has no moons, its too small to be a moon any way, it doesn't look right to be the _Ellis Island XXI_ greeting center, one of New Maui's Space stations, the only one not in geosynchronous orbit. Though looking into the sun hurts my eyes, I glance at it again, there are now five of the black spots on the sun, and they must be close, in low orbit, to cast such large shadows on New Maui's massive sun. I can still see the little island, but I whish I couldn't: a giant plasma blast slams into it, the trees and grasses are vaporized. "Run, get to the Parrot." A Parrot was a slimmed down, fluffed up, civilian version of the Pelican. As my mom grabs my hand, I glance one more time to the sea, and there is nothing but a dry, flat, barren sea bed. I'm pulled onto the Parrot, my dad starts up the primary engines; meanwhile, my mom straps me in to the back, and then joins him as a co-pilot. The back of the Parrot looks more like the back of a limousine than a converted military vehicle. The seats are covered in synthetic silk and there are luxuries everywhere. My family on New Maui was pretty wealthy because my dad had brought millions of acres of land when the planet was first discovered. Being one of the most favored outer colonies with almost a billion residents, and less than 10 of the acreage on Earth, real-estate was a more than profitable business.

The Parrot zoomed along the sea; it was not space capable; so my parents were heading to Piranha Naval Base a hundred miles east of our home. I know we are getting close, we've been here before, and it only takes a few minutes to get there, and we are speeding faster than normal. We lower in altitude as we get closer to the base, then a terrible explosion goes up a hundred meters to our left. A fuel tank had been set off by a plasma blast. Shrapnel flies everywhere; it claws at the hull of the Parrot, hisses and pops came at short, intermittent times, none of them sound like they are any good. A huge piece of shrapnel cuts into the cockpit, it rips through it like a knife through butter. It doesn't register that my parents were just killed because everything is going black, and spinning. Everything skips a few seconds, and I'm out side running as fast as my short, five year old legs will carry me toward a Pelican loaded with everyone I know and love: Team Claymore, My parents, Lieutenant Ambrose, Chief Mendez, several of my friends from school.

However, I realize I'm not moving at all, the sky is red-violet, the ground is black, and my legs are fused in to the ground, all I want is to be on that Pelican. But I yell at them to leave, let me die, save themselves, but it is all muted out by the sounds of battle. A blue-white-purple plasma blast slams down onto the Pelican, it is gone, then slowly, a Sangheili, out of his armor, light blue skinned, a long, deep scar that ran along the side of his face from the start of his tendrils down diagonally to his lower mandible, wielding the death of blue-hot solid plasma sword. He looks down on my pathetic figure, a crying five year old with his legs melted into the ground, struggling to save people who are already dead. "You, heretic, are not even worthy of my blade; you barley even merit death from my foot. None the less, you do merit death." He rose up his right leg, put it over my head and began to slam it down.

I sit up and scream, and bring my MA5C to bear, I breathe heavily, almost a pant, as I nervously swing it around from shadow to shadow, safety off, trigger half pulled. After a second, I calm down and flick the safety back on. There is barley enough light to see, I switch my visor to night vision and I am able to see other 10 other Spartans strewn across what's left of the Gannet. The cargo hold of the Gannet is sticking out of the Earth at about a 15 degree angle. Parts of the cockpit have been turned inside out, showing in the hold. Gore is splattered over the interior, it is the most mess I've ever seen 16 pints of blood ever make, whatever is left of the pilots I don't want to know.

I check the vitals of the Spartans, first, Victor, he is the closest, first I check them with the single beam, then I recall Mendez's lecture on machines and how they can break, or be rigged, I take off Victor's helmet, and take off my left glove, click the MA5C on to the magnetized plates on the back of my armor, and feel for a pulse, nothing. I reach for the defibrillator switch on the inside neck of his armor, flip it on, inside his SPI suit, two pads stick to his chest and a stimulant is delivered into his bloodstream. I wait, Victor twitches, then nothing, I try again, same result. Suddenly worried, I move to Team Claymore members, the first I come to is Jeff; he is fine, shaken not stirred. Shelby is not as fortunate, her neck was broken during the crash, the belt snapped, and she was thrown like a rag doll. José is in fair condition, several broken bones and a mild concussion. Angel is the luckiest; she is fine, though her pulse is somewhat irregular. I look around, no sign of any of Team Viking, very strange. The rest of Team Bayonet is dead, however I mage to revive Spartan G111 – Gauge, he is in a coma, but he has no major injuries once he is revived, he must have been killed by shock, literally scared to death? Not likely, really though, there is no telling. I lie back, and wait, occasionally falling asleep, my mind wonders while I wait for someone else to wake up. I have the option of giving them all stimulant, but there is little better than rest.


	10. No Official Command

05:11 hours October 31, 2552 (Military Calendar)

Sol System, Planet Earth

Aboard wreckage of UNSC Gannet _Thursday_

"Wake up. Hey! Wake up!" Kituma calls at me through my helmet's speakers.

"Err, What?" I vaguely respond.

"What's left of this ship's sensor array has picked up several enemy friend-or-foe tags closing in on our position."

I check the time; it has been over two hours, damn I wasn't counting on spending more than one. I activate a type of alarm sound to be broadcast over a low frequency, short range channel of teamcomm. Slow, groggy movements and low grunts come form my allies. "Grab a weapon!" I say over team comm., "We've got company." "Kituma, can you condense yourself into a memory crystal?"

"Affirmative."

"Do it now."

I switch to single beam and say to Gauge "Take Kituma."

"Why me?" Gauge says in a puzzled voice

"That's an order."

"You're not in any kind of command here."

"So you don't want the AI?"

Pondering that question for a moment, Gauge soon comes to the decisive conclusion and responds to his own answer by simply taking the Memory crystal out of the nearby slot and inserting it into his helmet. I chose Gauge because of his slightly rebellious attitude and because he is the most independent, lastly, although Gauge is active and social even at times borderlines on obnoxious, I somehow see him and the demure AI connecting and getting along, with positive effects for both of them.

I look across the Gannet and I watch as Angel strips down her SRS99D S2-AM, looks around the scattered parts on the floor, selects a few and reassembles the rifle. Angel may well be the best sniper…_ever_. Period. End of discussion. It's that simple. Sure I've heard the stories of the Spartan II's, Kelly's speed, John's bravery and luck, James's toughness, and Linda's accuracy, everyone has, military, civilian, outer colonist, everyone, but some of the shots Angel have pulled off beat anything I've heard in the stories, and we all know that the stories are slightly exaggerated.

I play back the battles to compete for Top Honors and for the life of me I can't figure how we lost, we came in fifth overall, but it still seems impossible to this day. We were flanked by two of the other team, the other three appeared to be five somehow, and then we were out so fast it's all a blur.

"Check here." A gruff voice comes in from outside. Then the roof starts to glow red-orange as a plasma torch burns through the stealth coated titanium A armor. I think for my SPI's active camouflage to activate and, through the use of neural uplinks, it does. I notice that my comrades are taking the hint and they all virtually disappear in less than a second. A dull thud, then a series of sharp thuds sound off as the square piece of metal crashes down to the floor. "Look, nothing. Just as I said there would be." A similar gruff voice to the first yells in. For the first time we can look upon our attackers…What the hell, we're being hunted by a pack of talking gorillas? No, wait, these are those new things that just came into battle a few months ago, what are they…Butts, Brits, Brutes, yea, that's it Brutes. I remember a lot about them, their tactics, their thinking, their weapons, but command tried to feed us so much about them so fast I nearly forgot their names.

"Hummp," the first voice responded "I smell something…human."

"Look, you're just smelling bodies." The other Brute said as he pointed this weapon across the floor.

The first Brute gave a grunt, and moved up to look farther in. Then he snarled and moved on. "Move up, take 'em out; use silencers if ya got one." I whisper over team comm. Metal clanks as the Spartans move up, even though the noises are subtle and quiet, each one seems to be like grenades going off just centimeters from my head. I get out last, by then the two brutes are dead, their brains resemble modern art the way that they are splattered across the path. I notice their armor: the one who spoke second's armor is sleek, no obstructions or decorations, and it was a deep, rich green; the other was a sharp contrast, his armor was a garish gold color that gleamed even in the overcast sunlight, it had all kinds of decorations, elaborate engravings, long, intricate metal pieces strung out from his helmet, arms and legs.

I move up to get their weapons and grenades, I take their grenades; they look long and cylindrical, blades on one end along with a hole at one end that is about the size of an 8-gauge shotgun. The gold one seems to have been wielding some kind of plasma assault rifle; it looks cylindrical and is made of the dull purple alloy the Covenant uses so much. I hand the rifle to José, he needs it the most; he could only find a M6D pistol. The other weapon looks like an elongated pistol with two barrels and large, curved, blue steel colored blades. I hand it Jeff, instead of holstering it he chooses to hold it in his left hand, dual wielding it with his M7 submachine gun. After this I stand up and look out onto my surroundings: we've landed in a urban area of DC, tall sky scrapers disappear into the clouds, as well as the Orbital Elevator, the one in DC is the only one in the world that is white as opposed to black, painted to match the surrounding buildings as it sits near the White House, Capital Building, and the Pentagon. We are about five miles away from it, somewhat in the outskirts of DC; nonetheless there are plenty of allies and crevices for the enemy to hide in.

As if on my mental cue two Jackals come out of an ally, one with a green shield, the other with orange, apparently, having a conversation with each other on a subject that they both held strong and different views on, judging by their tone and body language. They are able to see the five Spartans because we came out of active camouflage after the Brutes died. They panic upon seeing the SPI clad warriors and their fallen superiors; as they try to draw their weapons so fast they fly out of the green shielded Jackal's arm and the orange shielded Jackal fumbles with it as he tries to get a target and pull the trigger all at once. Suddenly they both land on their faces, each making a distinct thump, all a split second after two coughs from twin BR55's wielded by Gauge and I. "Prolly see some reinforcements soon." Jeff called over team comm.

"Jeff, José: take those shields; then take the point." I respond

They do as they are told, sure I'm in no "official command" but somehow I feel that I'm becoming a commanding officer very quickly.


	11. Prayers Said

05:11 hours October 31, 2552 (Military Calendar)

Sol System, Planet Earth

Washington DC

Such a slow going struggle, this fight, my armor is stained blue-purple-red-green with blood from fallen Covenant warriors. My ammo is running low, a clip in my gun and a clip in my belt, and my pistol and four clips for it. Right now the team is holding under cover, no one has shot for about five minutes, we know the enemy is not dead, something is wrong.

Waves disturb the air around me, a slight blur, not normally noticeable, like a spring breeze, but more subtle. Feeling in danger I switch to thermal vision: nothing. I need to calm down, the enemy has just retreated, we'll hold here for a few more minutes, and then Kituma will tap in to the Covenant Battle Net and confirm it.

Cement clacks on cement, something close, to my left, I quickly turn: nothing. Wait, my team is moving like they heard something too. If I was hallucinating they wouldn't be doing the same thing as me. There is something.

Plasma rifles blaze blue bolts from every direction. The team opens up fire with every weapon in our arsenal. Gunfire and plasma make the next few seconds very confusing, but somehow we end up on the other side of our cover fighting a half dozen Elites dual wielding plasma rifles. I slam the last clip into my BR-55, twelve three round bursts, gotta make them count. I aim for the head, and unleash four three round bursts. The beast falls. Plasma fire strikes me in the chest. My SPI cracks and singes, the pain is not beyond comprehension, but it is epically debilitating in a combat situation like this.

"Axel, Axel; get up." Angel calls offering me her hand.

I take it, pull myself to my feet, take a deep breath, then peer around the corner and empty the rest of the magazine into the last of the enemies. Before I go back around the corner I take a head count of our enemies, one to go. "I'm out." I call. Gauge doesn't verbally respond but tosses me a magazine of 9.5mm for the Battle rifle. Before I can get in a shot, Jeff empties 60 rounds from his M7, which downs the Elite.

"No sweat." José laughs over teamcomm.

There is a second pause until I respond, "Hell no."

Everyone calms down a little, I can tell it somehow. That and their breathing and heart rates go down by a small fraction.

Then it's another half a kilometer to the Capitol Building. When we arrive there we meet a Marine sergeant who tells what we already know: the situation is bleak. Then a whirr cuts through the air as a Phantom drop ship zooms in. It drops down ten elites and five grunts with fuel rod cannons. Triple-A fire rings out as the Phantom begins to leave; it is enough to rip the unshielded drop ship to shreds, but it's a dollar short and a day late, the Covenant soldiers are already on the ground.

Jeff and José activate their Jackal shields and start firing controlled bursts from the M7's; before I can even notice, Angel has fallen back and turned on her active camouflage and taken a sniper position. Gauge and I turn on our active camouflage and move up to flank the enemy. I stay back about ten meters because my active camo is not fully functional thanks to the plasma blast in my chest.

White contrails slice through the sky and into the brains of two of the Elites. I never hear the sound of the shot; damn, she's good with that sniper rifle, she must be two kilometers away. The grunts with fuel rod cannons have begun firing wildly, everything seems to be exploding in waves of green radioactive blobs. The air is full with chaos and confusion; I've completely lost Gauge and José, and I barley can see Jeff through the smoke and plasma, on top of it all, for some reason the damn comm. system is broken.

I glance up and see more contrails, how is she up at that angle? I look closer and to my horror I realize that their no contrails from sniper bullets, their contrails from pods from the Covenant destroyer hanging over the city. There must be thousands, maybe tens of thousands; it would be an incredible sight if they did not hold enemies in side each one. Spartan's do not have a religion officially, but I once came across a copy of an ancient text called the Holy Bible when I was in Mendez's office once, I barrowed it for a long time and did eventually return it after reading it. I'm glad I did, now I can say "God, help me."


	12. The Best Recon Mission

15:32 hours October 31, 2552 (Military Calendar)

Sol System, Planet Earth

Washington DC

It's been hours of retreating. We've fallen back east of DC, we're almost in the Appalachian Mountains; the pods really gave us hell. They landed behind our lines, inside our bases, in buildings, it sucked ass. Now we have finally stopped the onslaught; there are about 500 Marines and Angel and I. I have no clue in the hell what happened to Gauge, Jeff or José. It's decided that we'll wait for MAC support from the station _Zeus_; it will fire its MAC cannon at the destroyer above DC and then our camp, as well as about a half dozen others which are very similar to this one, will coordinate a thee way pincer assault to take back the capitol.

There is good news: we have decided that the assault is best to hold until nightfall for cover and to give the Marines sometime to regroup. But I have my own agenda. I get up and walk to where Angel is. "Angel, I think that we should recon the Covenant position from up on that hill." I said pointing.

"That sounds like a pretty good idea, we've got about an hour and a half before they fire the MAC; I'll go now." She said as she grabbed her S2 and a spotter scope.

"I was thinking that both of us could go."

"Doubting my sniping abilities?"

"I'm not that stupid. I'm just afraid that the Covenant may already be in those hills, it's safer if we both go."

Angel paused for a minute, pondering the possibilities. "OK, sounds like a plan to me."

I informed the commanding officer that we were heading out. He thought a recon mission was a good idea as well.

The walk was not that long, especially for Spartans. I was happy that we did not run into any Covenant, but I had not really expected to; I'd already surveyed the hill. Angel and I set up a sniper/spotter set up on the hill and looked out toward DC. The sun was setting behind us and the early fall leaves rustled in the gentle wind. It would have been a place of sublime serenity and peace.

We sat there for half an hour watching a field commander in gleaming gold armor, Angel was surprisingly not in a Zen state she went into when she set up for a long shot like this one would have been. It was probably because she had no order to shoot until the MAC cannon fired. "Do you ever think that maybe just maybe the only reason we are here is not to fight this war?" I asked hoping for conversation.

Angel looked away from her Oracle scope on her sniper, "All the time."

"Ever think that by chance two people are put close to each other…"

"Maybe by fate." She cut in. She took off her helmet, disregarding tactical rules saying not to, so that I could see her facial expression. I did the same so that we would be on even ground. We looked deep into each other's eyes.

"Then by fate." I whispered. The wind died down for a second and we were still staring into each other's eyes. Suddenly we met lips, not even with enhanced reflexes and a million and one augmentations could anyone tell who moved first, or even if we moved at all. It was one of those long kisses that say so much it is impossible to put into words, where two a man and a woman come to an instant understanding, and emotions are sublime, and all you feel is the passion of the moment.

It was a moment I would have frozen in time if I could have, but time was still moving forward. And the _Zeus_ orbital platform had decided that it was time to fire their MAC cannons on to the destroyer hanging above DC. The ship could not even be seen from here but the explosion somewhat visible, a bright star on the horizon that appeared just as night fell. The sound was a whisper but it was a sound that when you hear it you immediately know something is wrong. It interrupted our romantic scene.

For almost a full minute we laid there prone in the grasses on the hill, the sun almost gone behind us, and the early fall breeze whistling in the trees. We stared into each others eyes again, but this time they were saddened by the end of the moment. We both looked away to our helmets at the same time. We nodded to each other and placed the helmets on, they locked in with a click. We stood up, armored hand holding armored hand and we let our fingers drag away as we reached for our weapons.

We sprinted down the hill, love pushed to the back of our minds, weapons in hand, into hell.


End file.
